An Evening with Vundie


So Ikenna was bored yesterday, or the day before, at about 5pm..and he wrote and sent me this.  I read it and burst out laughing for miles. I hope you enjoy it too.

Oh yes, of course, every sentiment expressed is the opinion of the writer, and not this blog of course.

Of course…

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VUNDIE.

5 pm. He’s fucking bored.
He ain’t done shit all day.
The evening is almost here;
Daylight is wasting away.
All day he’s been in this house;
With nothing much to do.
His brain is working very hard
To search for something new.

 

He’s slept, he’s woken, watched some porn,
Jerked off till it hurts.
Tried to call his ex-girlfriend,
But he couldn’t find the words.
He’s sat down in all the chairs,
But they all feel the same.
Turn on the TV, turn it off;
This is his only game.

 

But suddenly, a powerful urge
To get into his car,
And drive down to the neighborhood church
Which isn’t very far.
He doesn’t know why he’s going there,
Or what he’s gonna do;
The voices just say, “Where’s your rifle?”
“Take that shit with you.”

 

He gets into the car,
And pulls away from the house.
The street is strangely quiet;
No peep from even a mouse.
The voices are scaring him now,
But shut them up he cannot.
He turns on the A/C,
But his body still feels hot.

 

He drives into the church parking lot,
And turns the engine off.
The sweat is making his shirt stick,
And his breath comes hard and rough.
He’s standing in the shadow
Of the hallowed home of God,
When again, the voices call to him,
And their screams ignite his blood.

 

“Quickly! You must get to the roof!”
“Don’t stop until you’re there!”
He dashes up the staircase,
Of others unaware.
“Where are you going, my son?”
The pastor yells to him.
But he cannot hear anyone else;
The voices make his senses dim.

Up and up the poor man runs;
His footsteps echo loud.
In a frenzy he climbs the stairs
As if chased by a crowd.
The pastor shakes his grey head,
And continues on his way.
He doesn’t see the rifle,
Because it’s in its case today.

 

He finally gets to the roof;
He looks up at the sun.
It’s just beginning to go back home
To prepare for the dawn.
In this one moment, his thoughts are his,
And they are very clear.
But suddenly, his mind goes blank;
And the voices are back there.

 

He goes to the edge of the roof,
With his rifle in tow.
He puts his eye to the view scope,
And watches the world below.
There is a woman with her little child,
Going home at the end of the day.
Somewhere else, a groundnut seller
Is packing her wares away.

 

He just stands there and watches them,
Oblivious little ants.
Going along their different routes
In their skirts and shorts and pants.
With a grim chuckle to himself,
He loads his tool of death.
He puts his eye back to the scope,
And takes a very deep breath.

 

He looks again at the view below,
And the targets in display.
He’s picking random people
To take their lives away.
He stands there for a long time,
Just looking at the scene,
When suddenly, in his pocket,
His phone starts to ring.

 

He looks at the display;
His ex-girlfriend’s number shows.
In the rapidly darkening evening,
The phone screen brightly glows.
He answers the phone call,
Puts the phone to his ear.
She tells him she’s driving to his house,
And she is almost there.

 

He hangs up and just stands there,
His thoughts all in a whirl,
When suddenly, the voices scream,
“Dude, go home and fuck that girl!”
He dashes back down the stairs,
Past the bewildered pastor again;
Revs up the car engine,
And pulls into the fast lane.

 

The voices in his head are silent;
He’s feeling normal now.
He’s driving like a maniac,
As fast as traffic can allow.
And those people may never know;
Have any idea at all,
How all their lives were saved
By a goddamn booty call

@thisisBFG

Bulleye...?
Bullseye…?

_____________________________________________________________

Like i said..

Follow on Twitter @janus_aneni

Peace.

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Author: Christopher Aneni

Histrionic| Creator| god.

30 thoughts on “An Evening with Vundie”

    1. “Above the call of duty, is the call of booty, which must always be answered. Always.” – Napoleon Bonaparte. Or Genghis Khan. Or the Dalai Lama. Somebody famous, sha.

      Like

      1. LMAOOOOOOO Beverly Osu…Oh God why?

        This killed me.

        But I am still typing.

        Would you look at that?

        I am dead and still typing.

        Would you look at that?

        (<_<)

        Like

    1. Is this a laugh of mockery or of happy praise? Are you disgusted or delighted? Did it rock? Did it suck? Why are you laughing? Why? Why?

      Like

      1. Do not impale another man with thine bayonet. If you must impale, use your dic – will you look at that? A chicken just crossed the road and no one asked why.

        Will you look at that?

        (>_>)

        Like

  1. Lawd. I’m speechless. It’s crude, funny and hella creative. We all should get bored more often and create more masterpieces. Lol. I’ve never been good with rhyme, so I like this a lot, the regularity. Vundie, you have a poem written in your honour. Be happy fam!… So this Ikenna guy is gonna be an exceptional ‘Omo Ibo’ apparently.

    Like

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